Sake for Two
by the hotpocket hunter
Summary: In which Kyouya and Renji stumble upon one another, and enjoy a kind-of-maybe-sorta-not-quite romance. (Will be done in drabbles, after initial set-up chapters.) Dedicated to Henka-chan's Special Someone, whose birthday is two days after I published this.


Henka-chan, this is the first chapter for Henka-chan's special someone's birthday. It's two days early, but I'm sneaking it out under my parents' noses to make sure I get it out. (I'm grounded.)

Kyouya huffed in annoyance, not spotting his group anywhere. Shrugging it off (no doubt they were on some hare-brained adventure he'd have to pay for in the end) he just headed down the boardwalk. Growing tired of the presence of others, he jumped over the side and into the sand. He paused for moment to allow the impact to dissipate, before heading down the beach and away from the cluster of lights and crowds that marked the pier. Carnival music faded away behind him, and he eventually found a place to sit.

Kicking through the not-quite knee-deep water, he hooked his fingers into the crevices in the rock and heaved himself up over the top. A breath left him, making a soft puff of steam in the cooling air. The whole beach and sea was bathed in a silvery-blue light, and the tranquility soaked into his bones with the cold.

So when a shinigami flash-stepped to the rock, hand on his sword as he searched for the hollow to explain the taint, Kyouya only looked at him. Throwing caution to the wind in the hypnotic light of tween-time, he said softly, "There's no Hollow, you know."

The redhead jumped violently and spun around to look at him, eyes wide. It was hard to tell in the blue lighting, but he though his eyes were read too.

Kyouya sighed, and waved at him. "Down here, Shinigami."

As the older, and admittedly attractive man stared at him, he rolled his eyes. "Sit if you''re going to stay," he ordered him. "You're blocking my view."

Renji, stunned, just plunked down next to him. "Um, so you can-"

"See ghosts? Yes. As soon as I realized no one else could see them, I searched through hundreds of thousands of hoaxes and attention-grabbers before I found a matching story, by one Kurosaki Ichigo. It was intentionally hard to find, but it was essentially a survival guide for the spiritually gifted."

"Ichigo did that?!" Renji blurted, wide-eyed. "That knuckle-head?"

Kyouya chuckled. "I take it you know the Voice of the Dead personally."

"Voice...?"

"That's what we call him. The tip-offs to the police, unnaturally correct obituaries, and the like. Things that only the dead should know. But he spoke for them, and thus was named their Voice."

"Huh," muttered Renji, looking thoughtfully. "Who'd'a thunk it?"

Kyouya shrugged at him, still wearing that strangely soft expression. His glasses were folded, and tucked into the front of his shirt, and his eyes practically shimmered in the silvery moonlight.

"So, what'd you mean, no Hollow?" Renji asked him, remembering the start of their conversation.

"There isn't one here," Kyouya repeated.

"I sensed Hollow though."

Kyouya shook his head. "No, that's just me."

"W-what-"

"I'm a Fullbringer."

That shut him up. The red-head ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the hair-tie. He tugged it out the rest of the way, looking annoyed, and shook out his crimson mane.

Kyouya's fingers itched to touch it, but he stomped down the urge viciously. It was obviously the atmosphere, he decided. Maybe there was something in the water. He was most certainly not attracted to this- this-

His mind tried to say thug, but a little voice whispered slyly,_E__xtremely attractive male that won't think you're crazy?_

Kyouya annihilated the voice mentally, entertaining vague thoughts of the flamethrower Hikaru had once gotten his hands on. That had been expensive.

The shinigami shifted restlessly, and Kyouya turned his silver gaze on him.

A reckless urge welled up in his thoughts, and he sighed. "Come on, Shinigami," he said in a long-suffering tone. "You're going to come get a drink with me."

"Um, I'm kind of invisible," Renji reminded him, blinking in surprise.

"I can fix that."

"And wearing a uniform."

"I can fix that, too."

Renji snorted dryly. "You've got this all planned out, don't you?"

"I came up with it in the last thirty seconds," Kyouya admitted.

"Okay, I'll bite," Renji decided. "How're we gonna do this?"

"My Fullbring is based on illusions," he informed the older male. "It would be child's play to convince them."

Renji chuckled lowly, pushing away the instinctive unease that came up on the mention of illusions. This wasn't Aizen...

"Here." Renji hooked his hands under Kyouya's arms, lifting him up to set him on his feet. He wrapped an arm around his waist, and flash-stepped them to shore.

Kyouya blinked, startled by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. "Thank you."

"No problem," muttered Renji. "Now, where're we goin'?"

"I know a place," Kyouya smirked.

Which was how, two hours later, Kyouya and Renji ended up severely inebriated. Kyouya was apparently a bitingly sarcastic drunk, with sadistic, mocking tendencies, while Renji was just a cheerful (if rowdy) one.

Discussions moved from one thing to another, never following an exactly linear path but somehow flowing well all the same. Renji had a tendency to jump headfirst into another subject without any warning, but Kyouya's sharp intellect (apparently unhindered by his intoxication) let him connect the dots fairly quickly.

And with a bottle and a half of alcohol in his system, and with Renji across the table instead of someone he'd have to be constantly on guard with, Kyouya relaxed. He rested an elbow on the table, threw his head back when he laughed, tucked his glasses into the front of his shirt and cracked off-color jokes and smiled for real and just had a good time.

There was no pressure from his father, none of his sister's nosiness or Tamaki's insanity or even his brothers' aggression. There was no Ouran Academy, no Host Club, and no sneering socialite hanging off his arm. No marriage negotiations, no verbal traps, no hatred, no hurt, no fear- it was beautiful.

The twilight faded into blackness as the last light disappeared, but still they lingered on the sake house's porch.

The moon rose high overhead, lighting the place up again, and lightning bugs fluttered by.

Renji didn't want to leave.

He wasn't thinking about Rukia's romance with Ichigo, or how much he hated his Captain, or how much pressure he was under in Seireitei. He wasn't worrying about Shuhei's crush on Rangiku or Izuru's depression, or even how inferior he felt so often. Kyouya was funny, with a dry, morbid sense of humor and a nice laugh- he didn't have to watch what he said about certain people, or walk three steps behind him, or cringe away as his captain effectively destroyed what little self-esteem he had. Kyouya was fiercely mocking, but not him. In fact, practically everyone that had gone by _except_ him.

There was no Rukia to friend-zone him, no Captain to belittle him, no work in the morning or paperwork to do or Unohana to dodge. None of Ichigo's smug attitude (as much as Renji loved him like a brother, he just wanted to punch the guy in the face sometimes) or Urahara's guilt tripping/verbal abuse.

No training, no loneliness, no exhaustion, no betrayal, no war.

So he just grinned, cracked a joke about some chick in a skirt so short it was practically non-existent, and enjoyed the night.


End file.
